Orphaned by Heaven
by Mystical Authoress
Summary: AU, takes place after the Castrato Arc. What happened to Cassandra Gladstone after he was killed by Jizabel? Finding himself orphaned by heaven and stuck in a demented carnival of Hell, he eventually realizes that there is no way he will find redemption.


**Author note: I do not own Count Cain: Godchild, nor do I own 'The Devil's Carnival,' a short film that inspired me to write this. The title of this fic is a piece of the lyrics of one of the songs in the film, 'Grief.'**

**To summarize what the fic is about, it's...What ****_exactly_**** happened to Cassandra Gladstone after he died? The torment that he had received prior to his death (his humiliation by Cain at the opera house and his death at the hands of Jizabel, to be exact) did not end after his death. The torment that he has faced will only continue, accompanied by faces of those who were just as beastly as he was during his past life.**

**Warning: Violence, spoilers up to the end of the Castrato arc**

**Constructive Criticism would be great, and I hope you read, review and enjoy! Thanks!**

* * *

**_Orphaned by Heaven_**

* * *

Lord Cassandra Gladstone knew immediately, as soon as he awoke, that he was _not_ in heaven.

Of course, he should have expected as much for this to happen once he got his brain taken out by Jizabel-to be dead, that is. The afterlife was not something he believed in, although he had heard of heaven. Heaven-glorious, illustrious heaven, shining in all its glory. Heaven was the place where the dead souls had their final rest, had their peace and quiet after life's oppression upon the, where separated lovers could unite and where families could be together again after being apart for so long.

A sharp pain burrowed its way into Gladstone's head and he let out a scowl of frustration as he got onto his knees, trying to stand. If this was heaven, there should be no pain coming to him. Therefore, he could not be in heaven.

That left him with two other guesses of what this place was. One was purgatory, a place that was not heaven. All he knew about that place was that the souls would have to wait a while before going into heaven, for they needed time to reflect on the things they had done. Gladstone highly doubted that this place was what purgatory was supposed to be.

The other option, which Gladstone thought of, was hell. Hell was the place where the damned souls would burn, would be tortured for an eternity without an ounce of rest, and it glittered with sweet temptation, luring innocent lambs to the slaughter. Hell pulled people into its eternal web of lies, treachery, deceit, and pain. Hell was where the souls would never unite with lovers and never have their families together again.

An involuntary shudder crept up his spine as he breathed the air while getting onto both feet, which was a mixture of sugar, salt, and _blood_. This place definitely wasn't heaven for sure. He highly doubted there would be the scent of blood where heaven was. He was also very, very sure that purgatory probably wasn't anything like this, either.

That left him with one idea that was most-likely true about this place. This place was none other than Hell itself.

He shuddered again just as the headache faded, immediately wrapping his arms about himself. Did the temperature of Hell have to be so cold? He thought Hell was supposed to have _flames _and_ hellishly-humid air, _for goodness sakes, not anything so _cold_ and _rigid_ like ice and snow. He looked around quietly.

The colorful, striped tents around him varied in sizes, from the smallest cottage to the tallest mansion. As he started to walk, he noticed the booths that were scattered everywhere, their extravagant or not-so-extravagant-looking signs displayed like the finest paintings on a wall. Gladstone swore that he saw a Ferris Wheel farther past the tents, the red and white lights on it blinking every second of the time. The sounds of laughter-from childish, innocent ones to more deranged-sounding insane ones, caught the attention of his ears, as well as the odd music being played from out of nowhere. Gladstone concluded what this place was aloud.

"I'm in a bloody carnival."

Of all places that he had to end up in, it was a _carnival?_ That was something he had never expected. Since when did Hell become a playground? He did his best to hide a short chuckle from himself. He found the idea of it being somewhat amusing. Hell, a carnival? Really...It all sounded like a dull joke.

He slid a hand through his (surprisingly still there, despite the fact that Jizabel shaved it off before killing him when he was alive) greasy, brown locks of hair, his dark amber eyes gazing about him. If Hell was nothing but a carnival, he might as well try to get used to it. Did the devil, the leader of Hell, decide to torture his victims by making them die over and over of boredom at a carnival?

He let out another deep chuckle at the idea. This was ridiculous-completely ridiculous! Hell? A carnival? Was it even possible for anyone to endure torture at a carnival, of all places?

"Oh, as _if._ As if one can get tortured at some carnival." Cassandra murmured aloud, not caring at all if anyone heard him or not. He looked down, realizing that he was wearing the same clothing that he wore at the Opera, during the time when Cain Hargreaves had humiliated him. He gritted his teeth at the memory, shaking his head to rid himself of those thoughts about that scheming teen. Cain didn't exist here-Cassandra knew he couldn't just go beat him up or torture him. No, Cain Hargreaves was still alive, still alive and walking...

Cassandra looked down at his clothing and immediately felt, well, out of place. The exquisite silk vest was smoothly draped across the crisp, white collared shirt that was free of any wrinkles. The ends of his black tailcoat blew about a little in the breeze of the carnival, but it was still looking very posh and proper on him. The dark trousers he wore were also crisp and immaculate, as if nothing had ever happened to them. His shoes were cleaned and polished, his socks not bunched up, and even the bow-tie about the shirt collar was not too loose or tight. Everything in his appearance was perfect-or so he thought. He glanced at his right hand-and immediately saw the lone imperfection in his appearance.

An angry, red scar emblazoned itself across the palm of his right hand. He scowled, remembering the face of that Trump Card...what was that Trump Card's name, again? Cassian? Was that what Jizabel called him?

_Stupid Trump Card._Oh well. Things could be worse, and Gladstone figured it was a minor thing to deal with. It wasn't like his hand was hurting from the knife that the Trump Card threw at him. At least he wasn't bald-now _that _would have been humiliating to walk around with, even in Hell.

As soon as he finished examining his current appearance, he realized something else was amiss.

If this place was a carnival, where were all the carnies? Where were the visitors, roaming about the carnival? Maybe he was early, arriving at Hell? He doubted it. Maybe the visitors were just all in some other area, and he probably came in the back entrance...

"Excuse me, sir?"

The deep, but somewhat raspy voice made Gladstone nearly jump, and he turned to see a man standing only a few feet away from him. "Welcome to the carnival. I am the Ringmaster that runs this place." The man spoke, taking a few steps towards him. The face of the man was obscured by the ragged, dark top-hat that he wore, as well as the tall collar of the cloak that reached to his ankles. "May I see your ticket of admission before you proceed with your visit?"

"Admission?" Gladstone repeated, before starting to dig in the pockets of his pants and coat, praying that such a ticket existed. He did not want to know what would happen if he didn't have a ticket on hand... "Er-um-" He knew to himself that he sounded so _dumb _while trying to find this so-called ticket that may or may not exist in his grasp currently. Thankfully, he felt a slip of paper in the pocket of his tailcoat, and he took it out, gazing at it in disbelief. It was a plain piece of paper with the word _'ADMISSION' _on it in a bloody red colour. "I didn't have this with me before." He murmured quietly. He paused, before handing it to the man.

"I see..." The Ringmaster paused, before looking at the back of the ticket. "Cassandra Gladstone..." He read on the back, before looking up at Cassandra. "My carnies and I have been expecting you for some time."

"Some time?" Cassandra asked, intrigued by this statement. "What in the world do you mean by 'some time?' How long, exactly, were you expecting me?" He demanded, crossing his arms.

The Ringmaster reached underneath his cloak and revealed a small, black book, which he opened to one page and started reading aloud. "Cassandra Gladstone, age thirty-five. Your reasons for being sent to Hell are for indirectly massacring thousands of people in the Crimone Gardens, abusing many with torture devices and drugs; most notably, a boy called Leroy, whom you dressed as a female to pretend that he was your 'adopted daughter.' Manipulating people to your whims by using the knowledge of their pasts to your advantage is also on the list of reasons why, as well as associating yourself with many, well, prostitutes and the like. I think this explains for how long, exactly, that we have been expecting you." He finished, closing the book and putting it underneath his cloak as Cassandra stared at him, completely shocked.

Cassandra did not expect this man to know everything that he had done in his life, right down to the prostitutes. He didn't even expect the _prostitute _part to be on the list-a lot of noblemen besides himself associated themselves with those low-life whores. He didn't think that it would even _be_ considered a crime in the afterlife.

The Ringmaster seemed to chuckle once, bringing Cassandra out of his train of thought. "Are you going to close your mouth, or what? I don't think you would want to attract flies with your drool, right?" He spoke. A pair of dark eyes, a shade similar to Cassandra's own eyes, flickered back and forth from Cassandra to the other places in the carnival. Cassandra shut his mouth immediately, unsure of what to say.

_I can't let this silence go on-what should I do? _He racked his mind for any questions that might come up about this place, but he couldn't think of anything in particular. He glanced at the Ringmaster quietly. _Wait. Those eyes-the clothing...his face, he's keeping it from view. Why do I have a feeling that he seems so...familiar? Could it be...?_

Cassandra wasn't sure whether to ask about the Ringmaster's identity. He decided to save the question for later. Before he could say anything else to the Ringmaster, however, he looked up to see that the man had vanished. Gladstone mentally cursed himself for not speaking up sooner about something. He looked around again, before treading further into the carnival. The heels of his shoes clicked against the cobblestone ground as he wandered about, taking in the sights and sounds of the carnival.

Sooner or later, he began to feel a bit peckish. The intoxicating smells of the freshly-spun cotton candy as well as the greasy, salty smells of popcorn were getting to him. _Perhaps the way to torture souls in a carnival is to make them collapse of hunger or have them desperate to steal food. _Gladstone thought to himself as he salivated a little.

"Freshly popped popcorn, salted and ready!" A feminine voice rang out. She sounded young, definitely younger than Gladstone-he immediately assumed that she must be one of the carnies, possibly. He looked around, trying to trace where the sound came from, but as he continued to look, he realized one thing.

The sound was muffled. _Odd, _he thought to himself. _Shouldn't someone who is selling food be yelling at full force if they want to get the customer's attention? _

He shook the thought away as soon as it came to his head. No, no...Perhaps the one selling the popcorn was in a tent. Maybe that explained why it sounded so muffled. He got closer to the source of the yelling (and the greasy smell of popcorn) and soon realized the reason why the sound of the yelling was muffled. He also realized at the same time that the reason was not because the carnie was in a tent.

The carnie selling the popcorn was wearing a mask over her face. Cassandra repulsed a bit at the gruesome sight-the mask was not pretty to look at. He analyzed the wide eyes of the mask, as well as the oddly-shaped ears that stuck out of the sides of the mask. The bell that stuck out of the top of the mask made him realize what the carnie was wearing.

It was a torture mask by the name of Scold's Bride, if he remembered carefully enough. The usage of the mask was for women who were liars and gossipers by nature. The bell was meant to bring more attention to the wearer, thus bringing more humiliation to them. He remembered hearing about the use of this recently...and then he soon figured out who this carnie was.

Violet Maria Taylor. She was a young noblewoman, whose fiancee was stolen by her prettier-looking younger sister. In her rage, she had attacked her sister with acid-and ended up splashing herself with the acid instead, disfiguring the her face for the rest of her life. He remembered hearing of how Jizabel manipulated her into getting six pairs of eyes by using a so-called beauty potion on five other unsuspecting maidens. Violet Taylor's pair of eyes was the sixth pair to be recovered at the end of the fiasco, killed by the same parasites that killed those women. Gladstone could imagine that the death must have been quite gruesome, and he figured that judging by her current appearance that she either had the same looks she had prior to her death-disfigured face and all.

Violet Taylor did not look completely terrible. With the exception of the mask, she had a beautiful, frilled dress on her slim body that could easily attract a man's eye-not that it attracted Gladstone himself, of course. He wasn't really interested in her. She looked alright-but she wasn't his type.

"Would you like some popcorn, sir?" Violet Taylor asked, extending a bag of popcorn towards him. "Two tickets."

Gladstone blinked out of his train of thought, unsure again of what to say. Darn it, he really needed to not get so lost in his thoughts-it wasn't like him to do such a thing, in the first place. He wasn't sure whether to say _"I'll pass, thank you,"_ to refuse the popcorn, or to ask_ "Is it possible to exchange something else for it?" _in the hope that he had his pocketwatch somewhere in the pockets of his pants or tailcoat to trade for the savory-looking food.

"Well," He started, "I do not know where to, ahem, obtain tickets from-I believe I might have came in here through the wrong entrance. The Ringmaster, however, did give me admission to enter and-"

"Oh, I see..." She paused, before continuing. "You're a new visitor. I understand..." She paused again, putting the bag of popcorn down. "The new ones get a special bag for free the first visit through, so let me just get one from the back. I won't be long." She walked into the small, white-and-black striped tent behind the booth before Cassandra could respond.

Free popcorn? This was interesting. Cassandra mentally noted to himself that maybe Hell wasn't too bad-however, maybe it was a trick. Anything could happen. Anything.

The wait was not long, and the masked carnie walked out of the tent, a medium-sized bag of popcorn in her hands. "Here you go," She spoke, extending it towards Cassandra. "Enjoy." He thought he heard her smile from underneath the mask, but he wasn't sure, since the mask muffled Violet's voice. He took a deep breath, before extending his right hand towards the bag.

As soon as he grabbed onto it, he felt something wrap about his right wrist and pull him forwards. He pulled back, not wishing to lose his balance, but the effort was in vain. He let go of the bag and knocked the whole booth to the ground as he fell forwards, sending popcorn flying everywhere. Childish laughter rang through the air, and he stumbled slightly as he got to his feet, looking up to see the source of the laughter.

A little girl, not any older than ten, stood near him with her arms crossed and a crutch underneath her left arm. She brushed a lock of raven hair behind her ear with one hand, before starting to shout. "Litterer! Litterer, right here! Get the Ringmaster here, get everyone here to catch this stupid man!" She called out. He heard the voices of other people come closer, and he tried to pull himself loose from the rope that was tied about his right wrist-it wasn't working.

He cursed aloud, before Violet let out a moan. "My mask!" She lamented, trying to reach for the mask that was a few inches away from her hands. "My mask..."

He snatched the mask away before she could grab it, before smashing it against the ground. The mask instantly broke into pieces, and he used a splintered-off piece to try to cut through the rope, just as the Ringmaster started to walk closer to the booth.

"He littered! He practically threw himself against the booth and knocked everything over! He even broke Viola's mask!" The young girl was speaking to the Ringmaster, her hands on her hips. "I suggest that we go and punish him immediately!"

"I did _not _litter! Not intentionally, anyway!" Cassandra snapped back as he continued to try to cut himself free. "The rope just appeared and pulled me forwards before I could do anything! The one getting punished should be the idiot who pulled the rope on me!" He finished, holding up his right wrist for everyone to see temporarily, before he continued cutting away at the rope. The stupid rope was thick and wasn't giving away as easily as he hoped...

"Hm...Well, you did break a carnie's piece of property-her mask." The Ringmaster pointed out, glancing at the broken and ugly-looking mask on the ground. "Dollmaker, would you like to have this man be added to your little collection?"

Rebecca Mary Crouge stared at Cassandra, before shaking her head. "No! He's too _ugly_ for my collection. Can't you just have him burn in some pit of fire or something, Ringmaster?" She demanded, crossing her arms the best she could while leaning on the crutch.

The Ringmaster let out a groan before removing his hat, revealing his scarred face. "Rebecca, we already did that to the last sixty visitors to Hell's carnival that broke the rules only less than an hour after their arrival. There has to be another form of torture than just fire burning them for eternity." He muttered.

Cassandra now knew, from seeing the Ringmaster's face that he knew who that man was for sure.

The Coffinmaker. The Ringmaster of this hellish carnival was the Coffinmaker, of all people. Cassandra remembered him, being in the Minor Arcana and that the last task he had was to gather some dead people for a funeral before he died in a fire. The White Owl had predicted it, knowing that the Coffinmaker felt compassion for his client-and the White Owl was right. The client escaped while the Coffinmaker burned. And now, here he was, being the Ringmaster of Hell's carnival. Cassandra found the position that he and the Coffinmaker now had to be ironic-it was the opposite of how their roles of power were when they were both alive. Cassandra was in the Major Arcana, and therefore had superiority over the Minor Arcana-when he was still alive, that is. Now the Coffinmaker was the one in charge, while Cassandra was being tossed around like some rag doll that no one wished to use.

The rope ripped completely, from the pressure of the shard against it. Cassandra used this chance to unbind himself, before kicking Violet a few times, who tried to grab his ankle. He got to his feet, before grabbing Rebecca's crutch and smashing it against the Ringmaster's right leg and breaking the crutch in the process.

The Ringmaster let out a hiss of pain as Rebecca nearly fell over without the support of the crutch. Violet was letting out more moans of pain-probably from Cassandra kicking her-and the other people that had gathered to find Cassandra were left staring in shock as their newest visitor fled the scene.

"Don't just stand there!" The Ringmaster snapped at them as he recovered from the minor, harsh treatment given to his leg. "Get him and bring him to the Big Top. We will deal with him there."

The others let out shouts and wild howls as they started to hunt for their prey. The chase had begun...

* * *

Cassandra ran past a few tents, before he hid behind a booth, trying to catch his breath. He heard footsteps get close to him, before suddenly passing away-dang it, the other creeps that work in this carnival of Hell must be looking for him. Then again, he technically caused public disturbance-he wondered if that was one of the rules of the carnival, to not cause public disturbance. Littering, however, was definitely something he didn't do.

_Who in the bloody hell would want to tie up my arm and make me knock over a booth, anyway? Do they like messing with new 'visitors' like me or what?_

He rid himself of the thoughts. Everyone was out to get him-so he would have to escape. Escape? Was escape even possible, considering that he was already dead and in Hell's carnival? For some reason, he hoped so. Anything would be better than being in this carnival right now, even being alive and in prison. He let out a forced laugh at this. Humiliation and shame if alive, or complete torture and being framed for things he didn't do if he was dead and in Hell. Were those choices the only ones he could take? The former choice wasn't even possible to take, since he was dead now.

Listening and looking around carefully, he got out from behind the booth and started running, to try to find an exit-

And the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, facing someone that he had run into only a moment after emerging from behind the booth. The two stared at each other as the woman slowly got to her feet, before extending a hand to him. He got up, still staring at her.

She was beautiful. Really, she was. Gladstone couldn't help but just keep staring at her.

Her light blue eyes were a little glassy, but clear as well-just like some porcelain doll. Her wavy, blonde hair was short, and the cut was slightly uneven, but it still looked very soft and silky. Her dress was simple, reaching down to her ankles. Cassandra admitted to himself that despite her somewhat plain-looking appearance, she was beautiful-even more beautiful than the whores that he had even been with when he was alive. The beauty, however, frightened him. She was beautiful to the point that it was unnerving for him-he shuddered slightly as he stared her right in those doll-like eyes of hers.

The first thing that happened, after the staring was done and over with, was the woman slapping him in the face.

"Stop staring, will you?" She snapped a little, glaring at him a bit. He immediately touched his stinging cheek, glaring at her a little bit. "And you should watch where you're going, too."

"Well, I'm _sorry_, miss," He responded sarcastically, crossing his arms. "I'm sorry that I had to run into you. If you hadn't noticed, I'm running away from several idiot carnies who are accusing me of littering! I bet one of them wrapped that rope around my wrist and made me knock over that booth!" He snapped, holding up his right wrist-he knew too well that there was a mark from the tight rope that was wrapped about it earlier.

He immediately regretted snapping at the young lady, who looked at his wrist quietly out of concern. She extended a hand towards it hesitantly, before touching his wrist briefly, pulling it closer to her face to examine it. She paused, before letting go of his wrist, and Gladstone let his wrist fall to his side. The two were quiet, before she spoke again.

"It must have been Emile, the Knife Thrower-he would want to pull something like that for kicks. Or Gilford, the Game Master..." He noticed her grit her teeth when she mentioned the Game Master. He wondered, for a moment, that she despised him so. The woman brushed a lock of hair out of her face, before continuing. "You're new to this carnival, aren't you? A new visitor?"

Gladstone let out a sigh. "Yes." He muttered quietly, before continuing. "I don't believe that we should continue this discussion until after we introduce ourselves-it doesn't feel right. Ladies first."

"True." The woman murmured in agreement, before speaking. "I'm one of those 'idiot carnies' that you're speaking of-one of the official ones that have a role in this hellish carnival, anyway. I'm not as insane as the other ones, though, trust me. I..." She paused for a moment. "I could have gone to heaven if I chose to because I apparently died a 'martyr's death,' technically. I gave up my life willingly to protect someone dear to me." She seemed to smile a little at the last statement, before she finally spoke her name. "My name is Meridianna, and I am the Fortuneteller of this carnival."

"Meridianna?" He repeated quietly. He recognized the name from somewhere-but where? He had never faced this person before, for sure, but he had heard about her from somewhere...

He shook the thought away, knowing that he should introduce himself. "Cassandra Gladstone. And please, do not laugh because my name is feminine." He ended, giving her a threatening glare. The last thing he wanted was anyone laughing at him because of his name-he had been pestered by not just the people at Delilah because of that, but also in his years as a youth. He did not want that to happen again.

Meridianna paused, before responding. "I think I've heard of you-at least for your sins. I know what you've done."

Cassandra let out a groan. "Great." He muttered sarcastically. "Well then, what are you going to do? Report me to the Ringmaster? Kill me?"

"Well-" Meridianna hesitated again, before responding completely. "I doubt I could drag you all the way to the Ringmaster unless I whacked you on the head with a heavy object, and killing you-well, I don't like killing, and you're already dead, so there's no point in doing that. I could get you away from those other carnies at least for a couple moments, though." A few wild howls broke into the air, and she cringed a bit. "You might want to hurry and make your decision. Otherwise they'll catch you and drag you to the Big Top."

"The Big Top?" Cassandra pondered aloud, but Merdianna simply grabbed him by the wrist and started to drag him in one direction. "Hey!" He pulled his hand away roughly. "What are you doing, woman? I can walk myself!"

"I'll explain about the Big Top after we've hidden somewhere. Come on!" She snapped back, before starting to run.

"Wait up!" He started to run after her, hoping that she wasn't trying to trick him and that they could get away from these other carnies soon.

* * *

The two eventually found themselves in a large, black-and-red striped tent. There were rows after rows of benches, all pf them perfectly draped with black fabric, extending from the back of the tent and towards the front of a ring. In the ring was a circular board that was standing vertically, supported by some wooden structure behind it.

"It's Emile's tent..." Meridianna let out a sigh. "Thank goodness he's not here right now."

"Emile?" Cassandra tried to remember if he had read that boy's name in the news-he had. "Do you mean by...Emile Cromwell? The one who committed suicide by throwing himself off the roof of Cromwell manor?" He asked quickly.

Meridianna blinked in surprise, before answering. "Well, yes...the same one. Do you know him?"

"No, I just...I heard about it in the news. That's all. I never met the boy." The older man responded, glancing away from Meridianna a little to survey his surroundings. "He's here in Hell, too?"

"Well, committing suicide gives you a one-way ticket to Hell, no matter how many good things you have done in life. Emile also attempted to murder his father, and killed his mother, to protect his older sister from harm. No matter the reason, those actions are still sins..."

The shuffle of footsteps suddenly caught their attention. Cassandra glanced around, trying to find the source of the noise, but he immediately felt himself being pushed towards the benches.

"What are you doing-"

"I'm trying to help you! Hide, you idiot!" Meridianna gave him another push forwards. "Hide under the benches or some other thing! Just don't get caught!"

Cassandra immediately bolted for the nearest bench, tripped, and he fell face-first onto the floor. He mentally cursed himself for his lack of balance, before crawling underneath a bench and draping the black fabric on the bench as neatly as he could so that no one would see him. The only problems, however, consisted of two things. First, he couldn't see out of the fabric-it was too black and blurry to see anything properly. The second was that underneath the bench, it was a bit cramped-he had to be very careful not to move around too much, otherwise a foot or a hand of his might stick out, and that would not be good.

He heard the swish of the tent flap open, before an unfamiliar, childlike voice cut into the air like a knife slicing open an envelope.

"Fortuneteller...you're here? Why?" Cassandra heard the shuffle of footsteps, before Meridianna answered.

"I thought that I'd just like to see how you're doing, Knife Thrower. That's all."

There was a pause, before the boy spoke up again.

"Well, I guess that's alright-" The boy paused, before speaking again. "Apparently some new visitor to the carnival went out of line. He broke Viola's mask and knocked over a whole booth. He got away, so all of us carnies have been on the hunt for him. Have you seen him? I think his name is Cassandra Gladstone." The boy let out a quick laugh. "_Cassandra_ Gladstone. Seriously, whoever named him mistook him for a female at first sight and didn't bother to correct that! It's so girly!"

Cassandra gritted his teeth at the insult. He made a conclusion immediately that this boy obviously needed to learn some manners...

"So...have you seen him?" The boy asked again.

There was another pause, before Meridianna spoke up. "Erm, no. I haven't seen this Cassandra Gladstone, Emile. I haven't even heard about him until now." She lied. Cassandra hoped that she was good liar-if not, that would not be good, either.

"Ah, well..." Emile's voice took on an even more childlike tone. "I'm bored, Meridianna...Seriously, I'm bored of searching for that runaway soul! What should I do?"

Meridianna let out a sigh. "Really, Emile, you need to do your part in the carnival. Is there any place that you haven't searched for him yet?"

"Hm..." The sound of footsteps started again, and Cassandra stiffened from underneath the bench where he was hiding. "There is a place, now that you think about it..."

The black fabric rose, revealing an face of a young boy, most likely Emile, with his face completely grinning ear-to-ear.

"Boo." He whispered quietly. Cassandra immediately recoiled at the sight, and tried to back away as Knife Thrower took out a knife that was attached to his belt. Instead of trying to stab Cassandra, however, Emile looked up, to face Meridianna. "Hey! I think I found him!"

Cassandra took the opportunity of that distraction to completely crawl out from underneath the bench and push the bench forwards, landing on both of the boy's toes. As Emile let out a shriek of pain and surprise at the attempted assault, Cassandra got to his feet quickly-before stumbling over other benches and landing on the ground.

Several carnies burst into the tent, before one of them pointed at Cassandra and shouted.

_"That's him! Get him!"_

The older man immediately got to his feet again, and stumbled over several benches as he tried to run. He even pushed past Meridianna, who was shouting at him to run, and went out of the tent.

He pushed past several booths, carnies, and tents, before he decided to wedge himself between two tents. The carnies that were chasing him passed by as soon as it happened, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He looked around, before noticing a wooden sign not too far away.

"The Funhouse?" He read aloud, and on an impulse he quickly dashed inside. Hopefully, none of the carnies would follow him any further-he wasn't sure what to expect in this funhouse for sure.

* * *

He first entered a room full of paintings in various sizes, displayed on the walls or on the ceiling. Some of the larger paintings even hung from the ceiling, and Cassandra had to watch where he was going, otherwise he would run into them by accident. As he continued to travel through the room, he noticed something.

The images displayed in the paintings were moving, as if they were scenes being played from multiple projections. He recognized Latisha in one scene, being restrained in the Scavenger's Daughter, and he watched her (or should he remind himself that Latisha was a boy?) writhe in pain. Another scene was that of the very first time he tried to hypnotize Cain, and when Latisha had interferred. Gladstone gritted his teeth as he glanced at another scene, which was when he was making the bet with Jizabel. If he hadn't made that bet-if that hadn't happened, he would still be _alive_...

He noticed a curtain nearby, and he pulled it open to find a passageway. Looking around carefully, he hesitated before walking through.

The chatter of people all around him caught his attention, and he noticed the velvet curtain behind him, and he even realized how high above the people he was.

He was at the opera. He glanced down at his clothing, still being the same as it was before. Now he fit in this scene, and he wondered _why _the Funhouse had a simulation of the operahouse...

He realized it as soon as letters rained down onto the audience from above, and shouts of anger began to ring in the air.

_"Lord Gladstone, what is the meaning of this!?"_

_"Say something!"_

_"How could this be...? Lord Gladstone is the devil!"_

Damn it. He now realized what this funhouse was about.

He was reliving the past moments of his life, from Latisha to the making of the bet, to the humiliation at the opera...

He couldn't take this any longer.

"Lord Gladstone, give us an answer!" He heard some yell from behind, and a hand grabbing his shoulder.

"No!" He shrieked, smacking the hand off his shoulder-only to cause himself to fall backwards and tumble off the balcony. _"NO!"_

As he dropped towards the people below, he closed his eyes, not wanting to feel the impact of himself hitting random people. Instead, all the angered shouting he heard was stopped suddenly, and he felt the threading of ropes beneath him, and he opened his eyes to realize that he had fallen on top of a large net, preventing him from hitting the ground. The net twisted and turned, before it collapsed onto the ground along with him. His limbs were tangled in the net, preventing him from getting up easily, and before he realized what was going on, crooked laughter broke the silence and he closed his eyes again as the glare of lights from above shone down upon his twisted form.

"Well, well, well. I suppose I didn't need my carnies to drag you to the Big Top, did I?" The Coffinmaker's, no _Ringmaster's _voice resounded, and Cassandra turned to face him. The Ringmaster looked no different, with the exception of a whip in one hand. "You came here...all yourself..." He smirked a little. "This makes my job much easier, doesn't it?"

"Shut up." Cassandra snapped, trying to untangle himself from the net, but a bunch of masked people (_more_ carnies, Cassandra figured) started to untangle him. For some reason, he suddenly did not want to be grabbed by these people, and instead tried to crawl away from the masked carnies. After a few moments of struggling, it was soon obvious that the attempt was in vain, as they finally untangled his body from the net and dragged him over to the Ringmaster.

The Ringmaster raised an eyebrow as he made eye contact with Cassandra, before glancing upwards at the carnies that restrained him.

"Do what you want until I tell you to stop."

The carnies let out laughs and some of them immediately brandished knives out of nowhere. Cassandra let out a scream of mortification and started to struggle as they pinned him down and attacked him all at once. He writhed and groaned in pain as the ripping of clothing, the chopping of some locks of his hair, and the slicing of flesh filled his ears. His vision was blurred by the laughing carnies' faces as they beat him senseless, and Cassandra eventually let himself grow limp as a rag doll, being tossed about in their clutches. He tried to dull out the pain, tried not to react-

Until with the swish of a blade, Gladstone felt something sharp dig into his left eye, before feeling some sort of liquid flood out where the eye was. He put a hand to his face, and pulled it away to reveal blood. He let out a much louder scream as the pain kicked in, and the carnies howled in delight, even louder than before.

"Cease your actions."

All of the carnies immediately withdrew from Cassandra, who collapsed onto the ground with a sickening thud. He trembled, noticing that his bare skin was littered with cuts and marks that would eventually become bruises. His fine clothing was nothing but tatters now, and pain pulsed through his entire body whenever he tried to move.

The cracking of a whip caught his attention, and Cassandra weakly looked up to see the Ringmaster.

"Face it, Cassandra Gladstone. Face your hell now, and see that you have been completely orphaned by heaven." The Ringmaster gave him a hard look, somewhat emotionless in the last statement. "There is _no_ way for redemption, and your hell will continue when you wake up from this and realize your new role here at Hell's Carnival-the _Beast_, for that is what you are inside."

Cassandra couldn't get himself to listen or move anymore. Instead, he let his head drop to the floor, his vision blacking out.

There would only be nothing but endless torture for him, and Cassandra knew, deep inside, that the Ringmaster was right-he had been orphaned by heaven, and redemption would never come to him.

* * *

**Author note: ...Whoa. I think this is the longest oneshot I've written-it's 6,548 words...**

**I do hope that you enjoyed this fic, and thanks for reading! **


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